Chapter 32 Marco #2
“True,” Sebastian agreed. “But you have to admit, it came in handy when you needed someone to erase all those inconvenient things the bureau wasn’t supposed to see.” He paused. “Listen, Marco, we both know you’re better than playing Romano’s enforcer.”
“I work where Remy sends me. You have a problem? Take it up with him.”
Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, I have. But we both know Remy never handles his own problems. That’s what you’re for, right?” He paused, eyes narrowing as if he were deciding how much he wanted to twist the knife.
“Look, I didn’t clear your records out of charity. I did it because you were one of mine. You handled things when nobody else could. Like with Cillian Clarke.”
I stiffened at the name, a muscle twitching involuntarily in my jaw.
Sebastian noticed. “I know things got complicated after that. With Remy, the Italians, and now even the Russians. All because Max fucked around where he shouldn’t. But we were good together. Come back to me—I’ll make it worth your while.”
The memory of Cillian Clarke’s final moments had never fully faded—blood on my hands, Sebastian’s orders ringing in my ears. And then Valentina. Sick, innocent, left in the wreckage of my obedience.
“Tell me,” I said slowly, leaning forward, “how exactly is that supposed to play out? I walk away from Remy and Max and just stroll back into your family’s good graces as if nothing ever happened?”
“Not my family’s, Marco. Mine. Cade doesn’t care what I do as long as it doesn’t touch his campaign.” He paused again. “You’ve always known exactly how far I’ll go to protect my interests.”
Sebastian’s protection came at a cost—it always had—but at least it was predictable. Remy and Max dealt in chaos, pulling strings behind the curtains.
He lowered his voice. “Max’s alliances are about to implode. Come back now, and you won’t have to clean up the mess. You’ll be on the right side of it.”
Max would be fine. I knew because I was the one covering his ass.
“You’re forgetting something important, Sebastian. I don’t trust you.”
Sebastian smiled, utterly unbothered. “I don’t need your trust, only your loyalty. There’s a difference, and we both know you’re capable of giving one without the other.”
He wasn’t wrong, and that bothered me more than I’d admit.
“Make the call. Get me out in the next three hours. You and I both know this is your best chance to get out before the walls come down.”
I stared at Sebastian, letting his offer sit.
It should’ve been easy. I’d done worse for less.
But I couldn’t do it. Not because of loyalty or trust or any sense of morality.
I wasn’t that noble, and neither was he.
It was simpler, more juvenile. It was the fact Sebastian had gotten to her first—to Valentina.
It bothered me in a way I wasn’t proud of.
It was irrational—childish, even—but it gnawed at me like an itch I couldn’t reach.
“Tempting,” I said finally. “But I think I’ll take my chances with Max.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll double whatever he’s paying you.”
Double the money from Sebastian Callahan wasn’t something you shrugged off casually. Money was how we communicated—how we kept score—and he knew exactly what he was doing, dangling it in front of me like bait.
But this wasn’t about money. Not this time.
“You and I both know you’re the best at what you do, and Max is wasting your talents.”
“Funny,” I drawled. “You didn’t seem to think Max was a waste of time when you were skimming his shipments.”
He shrugged casually. “Max’s business was convenient. Easy money. But convenience has its limits, especially now the Russians are involved. I’d rather work with someone I know can handle complications. Someone who can keep his feelings separate from his work.”
I shook my head once. “No.”
“Fine. If you won’t help me, at least do me one small favor.”
My jaw tightened. “And what would that be?”
“There’s a woman I need to get a hold of. Her name is Valentina, last name De La Vega.” He paused. “212-555—” He went off, reciting the phone number that belonged to my wife.
“Why exactly,” I asked slowly, forcing my voice despite the anger tightening in my chest, “do you have her number memorized?”
“She’s an important contact.”
“For bail?” I asked.
He smirked. “Among other things.”
“That number’s not going to help you. Trust me. She’ll screen your calls.”
“She’ll make an exception. She always has.”
“Not anymore,” I added. “Things changed when she took my name.”
“She married you?” Sebastian’s brows raised. “How did you convince her to get over what you did to Cillian?”
When I didn’t give him an answer, he was able to figure it out.
“Oh . . . She doesn’t know?”
I clenched my jaw slightly, forcing myself to stay composed.
It was true. She didn’t know. Not yet anyway.
And if I had my way, she never would. Some truths were better left untouched, buried beneath layers of lies and silence.
If that made me morally questionable, so be it. I’d been called worse by better men.
“What do you think she’d do,” he mused, “if she knew you were the reason she ended up here in the first place?”
Valentina had been fighting to survive her entire life. She didn’t have the luxury of grief—of mourning the men who’d left her behind. Cillian had made his choice. I’d made mine.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I asked.
“I think we both know she’d like it even less.”
I let my fingers curl slightly, just enough for my nails to press into my palms. Just enough to keep myself from reaching across the table and wiping that smirk off his face.
“You think she’d still be warming your bed if she knew?” he mused, tapping his fingers against the table. “Or would she run like hell?”
“You sure you want to push this?”
“Maybe I should. Could be fun to see the fallout.”
I smiled. “So would calling your brother.”
Sebastian’s smile faded enough for me to know I’d hit the mark. Good. He’d always been protective when it came to Cade. Everyone knew his brother’s political aspirations weren’t just important, they were everything. Even to a man like Sebastian Callahan.
“My brother isn’t involved in this.”
“Isn’t he?” I asked. “It’d be a shame if your latest business ended up staining those clean hands of his.”
“You’d really risk everything just to prove a point?”
“Keep my wife’s name out of your mouth, Callahan. Better yet, don’t even let yourself think it.”
That was the last thing I said before I headed for the door.
When I stepped outside, I got a phone call. It wasn’t unexpected. The number was. The same one Sebastian had told me, number by number.
I almost didn’t answer, but something in my gut told me to.
“Grey.”
Silence. Then: “Oh, come on.” Valentina’s soft voice came through the phone. “You always answer like you’re about to take on a hit.”
“I’m at work, Valentina.”
I knew I sounded irritated. I was. Not with her though. It was Sebastian. He had a talent for crawling under my skin, threatening to tear down everything I’d built with Valentina.
Sebastian reminded me exactly why I’d drawn boundaries in the first place.
Why I kept that hard, clear line between me and her.
Valentina thought she knew me, but that was only what I’d allowed her to see.
If she ever saw what was underneath—if she ever knew what I’d done in the name of loyalty, in the name of survival—she wouldn’t just pull back.
She’d run. And worse than losing her would be seeing the way she’d look at me, her eyes stripped of that warmth, replaced by betrayal.
Keeping things casual, distant enough to be safe, was my best chance of protecting her.
Maybe she’d never have to find out how deep my mistakes went.
Maybe she’d never have to know the part I played in ruining her life, or that my loyalty to Remy had cost me a piece of my soul long before I ever met her.
“Yeah, well, you married me, so that makes me your problem,” she finally said.
If I kept things as they were, Valentina could keep believing in the illusion I’d built. She could keep liking the idea of who she thought I was. But if we moved past that line—if we got more intense—the truth would surface eventually. And when it did, it wouldn’t just sting.
It would destroy her.
Valentina deserved better, and for some goddamn reason, I wanted her to have it—even if that meant never fully having her myself. That was what a good person would do, right?
But I wasn’t a good person.
I was a selfish one.
A very selfish one.
“What do you need?”
She made a small, frustrated sound. “A ride, Marco. Obviously.”
She had money for a cab, but she wanted me to pick her up. I took a small note of that.
“You’re usually more resourceful.”
She let out a breath. “The subway smells like piss. Not metaphorically. Not ‘oh, the city is so dirty.’ Like actual human piss.”
I glanced at my watch. “Is that your way of saying ‘please’? You might want to work on that.”
“It’s my way of saying, ‘If I have to get on public transport after sitting in a church basement for two hours, I will relapse just to make a point.’”
“Where are you?”
“Lexington and 12th. If you could hurry, that’d be great. The guy across the street is either selling bootleg DVDs or planning a homicide, and I don’t want to stick around to find out.”
“Stay put. I’m ten minutes out.”
I ended the call and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. Lexington and 12th. A church basement. She didn’t have to say it. I knew.
AA.
It wasn’t a surprise, but it still landed like one.
I hadn’t realized she was still going, especially after Max had stopped making it a requirement.
Valentina wasn’t exactly the poster child for self-help, more likely to mock therapy than benefit from it, but she’d stuck it out. Even without an audience.
That meant something, even if neither of us would admit it out loud.